


Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

by louvie (shingeki_on_feelings)



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Manhunt - Freeform, Minecraft, Minecraft IRL, Sick Character, Sickfic, Temporary truces, there's dnf if you squint really really hard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-10
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 01:47:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27486775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shingeki_on_feelings/pseuds/louvie
Summary: George got hit by a Wither Skeleton, and his condition only seemed to be getting worse. Unfortunately, it seems that the hunters' target has found them as well.
Relationships: Clay | Dream & Darryl Noveschosch, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound & Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, Clay | Dream & GeorgeNotFound (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF), Darryl Noveschosch & Sapnap, GeorgeNotFound & Sapnap (Video Blogging RPF)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 215





	Sheep In Wolf's Clothing

**Author's Note:**

> Okay. This is completely out of my ballpark here, but real people have different rules. Me personally, I see the dt + bbh in this fic as their own characters; I like writing with the idea of them, if you will. Although if anyone mentioned in this fic ever says they’re uncomfortable with fanworks such as these, it will get taken down. Please be respectful. That said, this has been burning a hole in my brain for long enough. 
> 
> I also have been forced to realize that this fandom has no shortage of sickfic/hurtcomfort fics. (Are we all really that emotionally deprived?) Well, whatever. Here’s one more.
> 
> Also please keep in mind that I am new to the dt fandom! If any of them seem out of character, I'm sorry, and it’s probably better that way anyways. Enjoy!

Sapnap couldn’t seem to tear his eyes away from the small bed across the room; more specifically, he wouldn’t look away from the man lying in it. Over the course of the day before, Sapnap’s concern for George had transformed into worry when he had continually gotten weaker, and now that George couldn’t even sit up, the nagging concern had bloomed into full-blown fear. They were lucky to find a village not far from the portal that they had come out of, and even luckier that the villagers of the town had an empty house with many spare beds for the group to stay and rest for the night. Their target was already too far ahead for them to chase him, and with George in the condition that he was in, Sapnap and Bad had agreed that resting for a night would ultimately be the best choice.   
  


God, and their target. Their old-friend-turned-prey, Dream. Sapnap silently cursed Dream for leading them into the Nether at all— watching George suddenly cough weakly against the pillow reminded him that George would have been fine if only they could’ve just stayed out of the Nether in the first place. When the coughing from the bed didn’t die down as quickly as it should have, Sapnap abandoned the axe he wasn’t actually crafting to briskly walk to George’s side. 

Only George’s face was visible, peeking out from under the covers, but a mere glance at him was all that was needed to see the state he was in. He was paler than usual, dark bags under his eyes standing out against the gray-ish hue that plagued him. His signature goggles, the ones he usually refused to take off under most circumstances, sat lonely against the wood beside the bed. Even under the covers, George was both shivering and sweating through the sickness that was brutally fighting through his body. Sapnap loathed to make him more miserable than he already was, but reassuring himself that he needed to check on his friend, he gently pulled the covers away from George’s chin and started to pull it down. 

Sapnap cringed in remorse at the whimper George made, but that was overshadowed by the terror that gripped him after he had only pulled the blanket away just a little. Dark veins of black had started to crawl their way up George’s neck, coming from his chest, where the Wither Skeleton had hit him yesterday. Pulling the sheets down even farther, Sapnap saw the disturbing gray that had started rotting George’s hands the day before, along with more gray veins that permeated down his torso and were visible where George’s shirt had ridden up. The sickness was getting worse. 

Sapnap quickly placed the covers back over George’s body, praying that Bad would come back soon. Ever the optimist, Bad had left in an attempt to trade with the villagers for potions or golden apples that might’ve helped George’s condition. Sapnap was doubtful that his errands would result in anything of use, but as he pressed his palm to George’s clammy face, stroking over his cheek fondly, he told himself to not lose hope yet. 

Sapnap stood up from his hunched over position and glanced out the window. It was getting dark. Bad needed to come back. Medicine or not, Sapnap could better protect George when Bad was with him. 

“...Sap?” 

Sapnap promptly turned his head down to where George was. His eyes were barely open, a rare occurrence in recent hours, but they were dull, not full ambition like they usually were. The sight made Sapnap’s heart ache. “Yeah, George,” he said gently, kneeling down next to the bed. “I’m here.”

“...Cold.” George mumbled, closing his eyes again and scrunching up his nose. “No… hot. Hot n’ cold. Both.” He whined in frustration, seemingly not able to decipher what his body felt. It was obvious he could feel one thing, though. “It hurts,” he whispered. “Sap, it _hurts._ Hurts… ”

Sapnap shushed him and reached out to push George’s damp hair away from his face. “Shhh… I know, man. I’m sorry. But you’ll be okay, you hear me?” George took in a shuddering breath, and Sapnap continued. “Bad’s gonna come back with something that’ll help and soon enough you’ll stop hurting, okay? You’re gonna be fine.”

Sapnap didn’t know if he believed that himself yet, but he didn’t have time to dwell on it— a specialized knock came from the other side of the door, and Sapnap rushed to get up and open it. 

Bad was on the other side, looking defeated but still with a smile on his face. That damn enthusiasm. Sapnap looked at Bad, glanced over his shoulder again at George, then decided to step out of the house and close the door behind him. The world was peaceful that night— liberal use of torches around the area assured that no mobs would bother them anytime soon. Sapnap could spot a couple of wild chickens flapping in the light of the sunset, and in the distance, there was a waterfall that fell gracefully off the side of a mountain. It was almost too beautiful for them, especially on this night when peace and tranquility were the farthest things on their minds. Sapnap looked back to Bad. “How did it go?”

Bad sighed. “The villagers didn’t have much, only a couple things that I could trade for bread and emeralds.” Well, that wasn’t promising at all. Sapnap shouldn’t have gotten his hopes up. “I did get honey, though. That might help him.”

Sapnap nodded slowly, before sighing and putting his head in his hands. Oh God, they were so screwed. _George_ was so screwed. What were they supposed to do?

“...Is it that bad?” Bad hesitantly asked from beyond the darkness of Sapnap’s eyelids. He sighed and dropped his hands, catching Bad look worryingly at the door behind him.   
  
“...It kind of is, yeah,” he responded. “I just— I don’t know what we can do. The Wither Sickness hasn’t faded yet. It’s actually getting _stronger,_ if you can believe that,” he chuckled without humor. 

There was silence for a moment before Bad moved to walk around Sapnap. “Well,” he starts, “let’s get him the honey and see. Who knows, he may get better during the night and we can all just move past this in the morning.”

“Right,” Sapnap responds automatically, but really, he thinks that even Bad can’t believe that. George wasn’t getting better. It was obvious. All they could do now was hope for a miracle. 

* * *

The last zombie in the area had just disintegrated in front of Dream’s eyes when he spotted a great light in the distance. Interesting. Light like that usually only came from two sources, and since he wasn’t in the desert where lava pools were common, that likely meant it was—

Dream spotted the village as he ran through the field. He felt satisfaction wash through him. _There they were._

Still far in the distance, he could see more torches stuck in the dirt than usual for an average village. Definitely an addition that the hunters would bring. Slowing to a walk now, Dream set his mask back over his face and bent his knees as he approached the cluster of buildings.

The house that the hunters were staying in was not hard to find, as the other villagers had already put their torches out when night fell. Thankfully, It was on the outskirts of town, and the low light spilling from inside would distract them enough for Dream to get close without being spotted. Not that he would get spotted anyway, he thought as he pressed himself against the wood of the house and turned to peek through the window. 

He could see Bad and Sapnap at the end of the room, standing close together and conversing softly. Sapnap was rubbing the end of his bandana, something he only did when he was nervous, Dream knew; pulling back from the glass, the masked man instead crept towards the entrance. He would give them something to be nervous about. 

He opened the door. 

Bad and Sapnap immediately whipped towards the entrance, unsheathing their swords simultaneously. The _shing_ of iron scraping against scabbards rang throughout the room, the only sound at the moment, as the trio stared each other down. 

Dream, feeling bare without a weapon in this situation, slowly pulled his axe out from where it hung at his side. The other two didn't attack at the considerably hostile motion, only shifting to stand in a more defensive position. How quaint. It’s like they knew they would lose in a fight with him, but as annoyingly resilient as they were, they still were determined to try. 

Curiously, he glanced behind them to see what was worth protecting. Maybe it could be useful to him. He couldn’t see much past the blades of Bad and Sap’s swords, but honestly, it didn’t look like much anyway. A standard red bed, some wood planks, and Dream thought he saw something that looked a bit like George’s goggles… nothing he would bother stealing from them. Ugh, this was so _irritating!_ He wouldn’t be getting any loot from killing his old friends, but hey, at least they would be gone. No longer would Dream have to constantly look over his shoulder, no longer would he have to shoo his pursuers away like persistent flies. The rest of his journey would be peaceful, something that he longed for immensely. His grip on the handle of the axe tightened. 

Then the bed moved. Scratch that, something _in_ the bed moved— it made a noise, a whimper; Bad’s lips pursed and Sapnap’s eyes narrowed, their glares never leaving his, even if their attention was obviously behind them. Wow, dropping their guard around him? Even Dream knew that was a bad idea. He smiled at their carelessness, looking harder behind them this time, and… 

Dream’s smirk fell. That… that wasn’t an it in the bed. It was a who. It was _George._ Questions rested on his tongue, restrained from leaving his mouth. Why was George in bed? Why didn’t he get up to face Dream like the others? Was this the reason they had stopped and rested? 

Bad and Sapnap took the moment his confusion offered to glance at each other, silently communicating. In a heartbeat their eyes were back on Dream, Bad taking a step back to better guard George and Sapnap taking a step forward and raising his blade ever so slightly higher. Not a direct challenge, per say, but most definitely a warning. _Stay away._

Well, Dream was never one to be afraid, but he was also never one to leave a stone unturned. “What’s wrong with him?” Dream asked as he pulled his axe backwards a little, preparing to take a swing if necessary. 

“That’s none of your business,” Sapnap responded curtly. He didn’t budge. “You need to leave.”

“Aw, already?” Dream couldn’t resist teasing. Old habits die hard, and all that. “But seriously, what’s wrong with him?”

“He said it was none of your freaking business, Dream,” Bad added from behind Sapnap. 

Dream raised an eyebrow then sighed, dropping out of his fighting stance and letting his axe down. His arm was getting tired anyway. “Okay, this isn’t fun.”

“It’s not supposed to be, you psychopathic asshole.” 

Dream huffed, ignoring Sapnap. “I’m serious. He doesn’t look so good.” He craned his neck, standing on his tiptoes to try to get a better look at the state of his old friend, but Sapnap moved to block his view. Dream scoffed and settled fully back on the ground. “Do you mind?”

“I do! I very much do, Dream,” Sapnap replied without a thought. “This is your fault in the first place. You went to the fucking Fortress. You’ve got no right to start caring now.”

“I _don’t_ care,” Dream mumbled offhandedly, which was a lie anyone could uncover by seeing the way he kept looking at George. Even with the mask, it was visible. “Damn, the Sickness, really? Shouldn’t it have worn off by now?”

Sapnap finally turned his gaze away from Dream to glare at the floor instead. They were in a situation where fighting wasn’t iminent, so he could afford to relax, but just barely. Bad responded to Dream for him: “We don’t know why it hasn’t.” Dream turned to look at Bad. “It’s actually gotten worse,” he admitted, “It’s worse, and we don’t have anything around that can help us much. But that doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be worried.” Bad’s tone of voice got more stern as he spoke. He moved his sword forward threateningly, as did Sapnap. “The two of us can take you on just fine.”

Dream watched the duo, still standing relaxed in the room like he was still part of their team, like they were all just hanging out, minus the two swords pointing at his mask. The protectiveness that came from Bad and Sapnap made him nostalgic for an earlier time, when he would act just as protective over the people he cared about. He almost missed it. Yeah, being alone meant no ties and no one to try and convince him out of completing his quest, but it also meant that Dream was lonely. Dream suddenly, inexplicably missed laughing with them, missed mining with Sapnap and building with Bad. He missed watching the sunrise with George. He missed fighting alongside them, not against them, and he missed exploring new lands with them. Dream loved them, he still does if he doesn’t lie to himself, and as much as he hated to admit it he didn’t think he could bear to know that George was slowly wasting away. Not him, not now, and not like this. 

“What about a truce?” Dream says after a long moment of too-tense silence. Bad and Sapnap look taken aback. 

“Uh—” Sapnap looks at Bad, then back to Dream. “What?”

“A truce,” Dream repeats, this time stronger. “You know, where we make an agreement not to hurt the othe—”

“Yeah, I know what a truce is, dipshit,” Sapnap interrupts, which this time earns him a nudge from Bad behind him. “I mean, why would you want a truce? You’ve been trying to kill us this whole time, what’s stopping you from walking away and just letting him—” Sapnap cut himself off before he could finish, something that Dream was grateful for. “What I’m saying is that you would benefit from leaving. You wouldn’t even have to do anything.”

_“Sapnap,”_ Bad chided, sidestepping around Sapnap to stand beside him. “Are you _trying_ to get him to leave?”

“Because,” Dream intercepted before Sapnap could respond. “To fall by my hand, whether it be sword or axe or TNT or whatever, would be more merciful than this.” Dream waved his hand at the bed, gesturing to the Sickness. “At least I’m quick. This, this is just cruel. To watch him quite literally wither away… I can’t imagine.” Dream turned back to the other two. “Please, let's form a truce. Do it for George. I might be able to help him.”

Bad and Sapnap glanced at each other again, definitely having some sort of conversation. Dream waited as raised eyebrows, skeptical looks and nods toward George were traded before they turned to face him again. 

“Swear.” was all Sapnap said, nodding with finality. Dream was tempted to very literally comply, to shout _fuck_ or somthing equally as hilarious; although the gravity of the situation was not lost on him. He stood up to his full height, placing a hand over his heart, stared Sapnap in the eye and spoke:

“I, Dream, swear on my honor as a Speedrunner that no harm will come to you for a night and a day. No shenanigans, no trickery, no backstabbing, all in return for the same. Does that sound fair?”

Sapnap watched him, eyes jumping around Dream’s face and frame, probably looking for signs that he was lying. Well, he wasn’t, and it wasn’t like Sapnap could see under his mask anyway. But that was Sapnap; always wanting to be thorough. 

Finally, Sapnap sighed. He sheathed his sword, finally relaxing his stance and spurring Bad to do the same. Dream put his axe back on his belt, smiling a little when Sapnap muttered “deal.”

It very quickly faded when the other two took a step back, letting Dream get a clear view of the bed for the first time that night. _George._ Slowly, Dream started taking steps toward the bed, observing his old friend anew with every footfall that sounded. His color wasn’t right. It was too desaturated compared to the flushed pinkness Dream remembered. His hair had less of a shine to it, now matted with sweat and too much time spent in bed. Even under the blanket, he was shivering, curled up into himself either to conserve heat or a feeble attempt to ease the pain. Dream was already sick to his stomach at the sight by the time he actually reached him. 

“George,” he murmured as he knelt down beside the bed, tilting his head a bit so that it would be easier to make eye contact. He reached out to tap him lightly on the cheek. “George,” he called again, “Bud? Can you open your eyes for me?”

George stirred. “Dream...” he muttered ever so softly, seemingly to himself. Bit by bit, his eyelids pried open, and widened when he finally focused on who was actually in front of him. He gasped and tried to move, either to get away from a hostile Dream or to fight him, but didn’t get much of a chance to do anything when the motion itself caused him to collapse in a fit of painful spasms. “Dream—!”

_“Woah, woah, woah”_ s and _“hold it”_ s came from more than one source around him. Not only had Dream put his hands up to show that he wasn't going to attack, but Sapnap and Bad had both rushed up to rub George’s back through the pain or lay a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey, hey,” Dream was saying quickly, and softly, strangely. George hadn’t heard that softness for such a long time. He missed it. “I’m not gonna hurt you, okay, George? I promise. I just need to see how you’re doing.”

Oh. That was it, then. Okay, George could do that. In the back of his mind, alarms were going off, yelling that he should be more cautious than this, but the fog was coming back to his mind and suddenly it didn't matter anymore. This was Dream. He loved Dream. Dream was his friend. They were friends, and George trusted him, which was much easier now that the nagging panic was fading. “Dream,” George said again, not wanting to say anything else other than the name of the man in front of him. 

Dream sighed in relief when George’s body relaxed again. His dulled eyes were still open, pinned on him and looking so _trusting,_ so unguarded, and that old protectiveness from long ago came running back through him. In a breath Dream grabbed the bottom of his mask, pulling it up to the crown of his head. Now he could really look George in the eye and reassure him properly.   
  
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said with a small smile. Dream placed his hand back on George’s face, both in an attempt to gauge his temperature and to soothe him with light touches. “How’re you doing, Georgie?”

George gave the same answer he did whenever Sapnap or Bad asked him the same question. “Hurts,” he whimpered, finally closing his eyes again to brace against the next wave of pain.   
  
“I bet,” Dream commented mindlessly. Without taking his hand away from George’s face, he turned his head to look at Sapnap and Bad. “Where did he get hit?”

Sapnap crossed his arms. “On the chest. His ‘plate had just broken and the Wither Skeleton came out of nowhere. It surprised all of us.”

Dream cringed. That was probably the worst place George could’ve gotten hit. He knew from experience how the Wither Sickness would spread from the wound into the bones and organs nearest to it— and having your lungs and ribs get infected first? Dream could imagine how painful that would be. 

He sat back on his heels, observing George. Okay. What did he have on him that could help? This certainly wasn’t a problem Dream could fix with bread or steak. George needed something with generous help if they wanted him to pull through. An enchanted golden apple would be great right about now, hell, even a regular golden apple wouldn’t be unwelcome. Unfortunately, the chests Dream had looted recently had been stingy with their treasures, so no magical fruit would help them today. Dream silently cursed. Damn, this _sucked._ Why did Dream’s ill-gotten earnings have to run dry _now?_ They really could’ve used that regeneration effect of the God apple—

Wait. Regeneration. Magic. _Of course!_ For a man who considered himself smart, Dream really should have remembered this earlier. He blamed the delay on extreme concern. 

“I’ve got it,” Dream said, swinging the small pouch on his back to the floor. That grabbed the attention of Sapnap and Bad, who leaned forward over the bed to see what Dream could possibly have to help the situation. “Come on, come on,” he muttered as he rummaged, looking for that certain shine and the flash of pink— “Yes!” Dream hissed, finally feeling the smooth glass under his fingers. He pulled, and in the blink of an eye, Dream now had a potion of regeneration in his hand. 

Bad and Sapnap instantly started sputtering. “I— how do you have that?! You’ve been brewing already?! We’ve only been out of the Nether for like a day—” 

“Sapnap. It doesn’t matter how I got it.” Dream interrupted Sapnap and slung the bag back over his shoulder. “What matters now is how we use it. We don’t exactly have time to waste.”

He smirked, looking back to George. “Besides, it’s not like I’m telling you my secrets. You’ll just use them against me next time.”

“There won’t _be_ a next time, dickhead,” Sapnap retorted, but Dream could tell by the sound of his voice that he was smiling. So was Bad, as he had started chiding Sapnap on name calling immediately after. Classic. Ignoring him, Sapnap continued: “Do you want us to sit him up?”

Dream’s playful expressions darkened. “Yes, please.” This part would not be fun. 

It seemed like Bad and Sapnap had realized this as well, both of them looking at George with a mix of guilt and pity. The poor man was still shivering, whether from nonexistent cold or from pain, they couldn’t tell. The Sickness had presumably spread through his chest to his spine, so moving him would certainly cause more pain than anyone would want him to experience, but unfortunately if they wanted George to drink the potion, he would have to be sitting up. Dream exhaled through his nose as he began to wiggle the cork out of the bottle spout. “Just a little longer buddy, I promise.”

He stood up and took a step back, letting Bad take his place at George's side. Sapnap mirrored him on the other side of the bed, hands already placed on Geroge’s shoulder, ready to roll him over. Bad went to place his own hands down similarly when he hesitated. 

Bad leaned in towards George’s face. “George?” he spoke softly. “We gotta move you over, okay? It’s going to hurt, I’m sorry. But I know you can do it.” Without waiting for a reply, Bad shoved his hands under George’s shoulder and nodded at Sapnap. 

They moved in tandem, Bad pushing and Sapnap pulling. George cried out at the motion, as they all expected them to, but the high-pitched yelp of misery still made them wince. Nevertheless, they persisted, carefully rolling George until he was on his back and gravity was pulling his tears down towards the pillow. 

They gave him a break to calm down as the cork finally popped out of the bottle and into Dream’s hand. He walked back over to the bed, careful not to spill any of the pink liquid as he sat down on it next to George’s hip. Dream’s eyebrows scrunched together at the sight in front of him, and he was positive that Sapnap and Bad felt the same way. George looked worse than mere minutes before. Teeth clattering unpleasantly, tear tracks staining his face, and small sobs echoing throughout the small house served as proof of George’s distress. This wasn’t how his friend should ever look, Dream thought; he didn’t deserve it. Seeing such a capable and kind man fall victim to this ruthless infection when he should have been gearing up for the thrill of another fight— It broke Dream’s heart. They needed to get this potion in him, _now._

Dream tossed the cork on the floor beside him, adjusting his grip on the potion bottle. “Okay,” he said, shifting a little on the bed. “Let’s get him up.”

It was a painful process for all of them, in different ways. George’s agony was obvious, every muscle searing at every movement he was forced to follow, but having to listen to George’s torturous screams wasn’t pleasant either. The entire village was probably awake and regretting their generosity by now, but no one came to shut them up, so the fleeting concern for the other villagers quickly left their minds. 

When George was about halfway up was when it got even worse. None of them exactly knew what to do when their friend started bawling and shaking uncontrollably. It was all they could do not to drop him back down onto the bed and have to start back from square one. All they really _could_ do was to keep their steady rise, ever so slowly, until finally George was high enough for Dream to feed him the potion. 

“George, George,” Dream spoke quickly, panic rising in his voice as he desperately tried to calm his friend’s sobs. His hand raised to hold the junction between George’s neck and head, anchoring George’s gaze to meet his own. “Look at me, George. Look at me. I need you to do one more thing for me, okay? I promise, just this one thing, then you can lie back down.” With the hand not on George’s face, Dream lifted the potion into George’s line of sight. “You gotta drink this for me, okay? It’ll make you feel better, I promise, just— can you do that for me?”

Still sobbing and convulsing slightly, George nodded. Dream breathily chuckled in relief. “Good. Thank you.” Carefully, slowly, he brought the lip of the bottle to George’s mouth, tipping it once the opening was firmly pressed against George’s parted lips. 

Dream had lost track of his own words now, solely focused on the fact that George was finally drinking. Small reassurances like “you’re doing great,” and “there you go” left him effortlessly. George didn’t seem to notice, taking small pulls of the potion but still taking it dutifully. Seconds seemed like hours, building into minutes of days, until finally, late in the night, the potion spilled its last drop. 

The three men collectively breathed a sigh of relief when Dream pulled the bottle away. “You did it, George. You did so well.” It was almost over. George was going to be okay. 

“This—” Dream said breathlessly, watching the other two slowly bring an exhausted George back down, “ _None_ of what I have been doing lately is good for my heart. One of these days I’ll just get a heart attack and do all the work for you.”

Sapnap chuckled at that, placing George’s head back down onto the pillow. The potion must have already been kicking in because George wasn’t screaming in pain at the hunters’ movements anymore, only letting his eyes fall shut again as his body gave in to exhaustion. Sure enough, within the next few seconds, very faint pink wisps began to collect along the exposed skin on his body and rise off him. 

Dream put the bottle aside, grabbed the blankets at George’s hips and exhaled as he pulled them up to his shoulders. His hand lingered on his chest for a moment, feeling the slow rise and fall of it under his fingertips. Fuck. _He was going to be okay._

“Well. How about that,” Sapnap muttered, breaking the tense silence. Dream and Bad looked up at him, but the man’s eyes were still skirting around George’s face. Dream sympathized. It was hard to look away from someone you loved after a scare like that, Dream knew from experience. “Even while being on a months-long asshole streak, you still managed to come in clutch when it mattered.” Sapnap carefully cupped George’s sleeping face, and he laughed wetly, looking up at Dream. “When can you make it easy for us to hate you?” He begged. 

Dream kept his gaze with Sapnap, watching the moisture in his eyes collect and finally spill over. A glance at Bad to his side showed a similar image, where his glowing eyes were squeezed as tight as his grip on George’s hand. He looked like he was trying not to cry, either, and Dream suddenly was very, very sad. 

He leaned over from his place still on the bed, and in the next moment Dream had his arms wrapped around Sapnap, who clung to him like he used to back when they were thick as thieves. He let the feeling of tears settle on his skin, let the sound of relief and regret and mourning wash over him, for they all _were_ mourning, the loss of a friendship at least. 

So there they stayed, for a long time, together on that bed, just letting themselves be and relishing the assurance that their friend was going to live. 

* * *

The silence of the evening was broken only once, late into the night, hours after George had fallen asleep. Both Dream and Sapnap looked up at the soft voice of Bad. “Dream, why…” he trailed off, not looking at the man he was addressing. He sounded sad, and tired. Very, very tired. “Why can’t you just… stop? End this whole ‘quest’ of yours… come home…”

Dream was quiet. Bad finally looked up to meet his eye, and Dream thought that he looked as small as he sounded in the moment, with his elbows on his knees and his shoulders rolled forward. He looked at Dream like he already knew the answer was, like he knew and he didn’t want Dream to say it. 

“I…” Dream started. “... I want to. I really, really want to. Speedrunning is lonely, you know? There’s nothing I want more than to just be with you all again, and we could do things, travel places, be a _team_ again.” He smiled sadly. 

Sapnap put his face in his hands, started rubbing at his eyes. “There’s a ‘but’ coming. Why is there always a ‘but?’ Can’t we just have _one_ good thing anymore?”

Dream didn’t respond to that. “But I can’t stop. I _can’t._ I can’t explain it, either, but it’s a part of me that I refuse to ignore. Whether you like it or not, whether you try to stop me or not, I _will_ kill the dragon. I have to.” 

No one else spoke. There was no reason to. They had all said their pieces for the night and although they really should have spoken more about the whole situation, revealed more of their grievances and cleared the air between them, they couldn’t. Not tonight. Not after everything else that had happened. It would have to be saved for another day. 

The hush of the night carried into the early morning as well, even as the last bones of skeletons turned to ash under the sun and the lingering creepers ran for cover from the light. It followed as Dream gave a still-sleeping George one last kiss on the forehead, Sapnap one last long hug, and Bad one last forehead touch. 

“We’ll come again at nightfall,” Sapnap finally said when Dream had finished tying his mask back on and opened the door. Dream paused, and the hunters could see the on-brand smirk their target had adopted once again.   
  
“I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the masked man replied, turning away and stepping out of the threshold. “I’ll be waiting.”

He had only taken a few steps when Bad’s “Wait!” made him pause again. He looked over his shoulder. 

Bad stood next to Sapnap, his hands in fists at his sides. “Thank you,” he admitted more than said, like it was a confession he was ashamed to share. 

Dream didn’t react to it. He had already made a mistake in letting them into his heart again earlier, and if he was to face them again in combat soon, he had to start distancing himself all over again. 

Instead, Dream turned back towards the rest of the world; and though the action tore his heart in two, he stepped forward into a determined gait, away from his three old friends, thinking that we _would_ see them again. 

It was a goodbye, but not their last, they all thought as the hunters watched Dream shrink into the rising sun. 

**Author's Note:**

> me a month after starting this, trying to finish up the ending: must… not… write… dreamnap… 
> 
> i wrote most of this before i got as heavily into the dt fandom as i am now and i remember thinking: ‘all the fics are exaggerating. badboyhalo doesn’t actually say “language,” especially that much.’ 
> 
> spoiler alert: the fics are not exaggerating
> 
> Comments and Kudos are much appreciated! Thank you for taking the time to read this and I hope you enjoyed!
> 
> My twitter is @shingekonmylove if any of y’all wanna stop by :)
> 
> (psst… I have another, longer mcyt story coming out very, very soon, so stay tuned if you like fantasy AUs!)


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